Incarnation
by Shadsie
Summary: Pit was an angel. He was also, for a day, a child, a dog and a muscle-bound mercenary. This is the story of how he felt being each incarnation, trying on forms like armor in his quest to reunite his body with himself.


_**Obligatory Disclaimer of Dubious Legality:**__ Kid Icarus belongs to Nintendo, not to me. I am making no hearts or drachma over this. _

_Chapter 18 of Kid Icarus: Uprising, in-depth. As such, spoilers apply for said chapter of the game._

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**INCARNATION **

Pit sometimes enjoyed pretending that he was different creatures and things. People do this when they are children and if they are very lucky, they keep this sense of imagination as they grow into adults. Those that do this most often either become fiction writers or insane, though there usually is not much of a significant difference between those two. Pit was a fighter not a writer or even a reader, preferring to have stories told to him and, while there was some disagreement among the people that knew him best as to his level of sanity, he was functional and better off than some gods and mortals he'd met.

When everything around him felt like cold metal and he found that he could not move, he knew that he was not pretending. He feared that he had lost his mind. He searched and sensed, as if awakening from a long, deep sleep. Eventually, he could see his surroundings, although he did not know how, not knowing where his eyes were anymore and with his body cold and stiff. He wasn't a corpse or a zombie – he knew that much. Pit gauged that he would have felt more like cold meat and heavy bone if he were in such a state, and probably hungry for unspeakable things if stories about the undead had any truth to them. The young angel wondered, for quite some time, if he had been turned to stone. It was a condition that he was familiar with, having rescued the troops under his command from a fate as statuary. He had, in fact, been turned to stone a few times himself upon encountering certain Underworld-army enemies, but had always enjoyed the protection of his lovely goddess, which kept the condition from lasting long.

He was one of the few beings in his world that knew Medusa's eye-color and could tell of it.

Pit decided that he had not been turned into a stone statue because he didn't feel "granite-y" enough, nor did he feel enough like marble. No, he definitely felt like his soul had been wrapped in metal. He became alarmed when he realized that he couldn't feel his wings. Right about then was when he realized that he couldn't feel any of his limbs. He couldn't feel his hair blowing against his face, or the wind tingling the tip of his nose, the stretch of his muscles or the warmth of his skin.

He was cold – just cold – but strangely not uncomfortable. As he began to discern his surroundings a name echoed in his spirit, like a name half-remembered from a distressing dream. "Chaos Kin."

Warmth touched him gently and he felt himself being lifted up. A little girl with big, pretty eyes stared at him. In an instant he was sure that he was seeing himself through those big, pretty eyes – at once the little girl and at the same time a small object she held in her chubby little hand.

"I'm a ring?" he asked himself. Quickly, his soldier's mind assessed the situation. The child admired him for a moment and put him on. Suddenly, Pit felt himself in a body again, albeit one that he described to himself as having the feeling of "wearing a suit of armor that was too small."

He was warm again and he felt the stretch of muscles against bones, though, indeed, these muscles were small and undeveloped. The limbs were short and felt unwieldy to him. His mind seemed to be cut off from the little girl's mind. She was almost completely suppressed. Pit felt fear from her, though, as well as confusion and wonderment. He tried to assure her that he was not there to harm her. Something about conveying "I'm an angel," however, sent a shock of terror through her system. Pit wondered about this, but seemed to have gotten through that he was no threat. He felt her calm.

Pit explored the child's body in the most innocent way possible. He was straight and to the point, locomotion being the only thing on his mind. He moved the tiny legs with urgency. There was a city nearby with dark smoke curling from it. This meant two things: Civilization and the opportunity to find help of some kind, perhaps even one of Lady Palutena's shrines – and, because of the smoke, unfortunately – that there was trouble.

Pit did not want to put the child whose body he was inhabiting in danger, but his instincts as a guardian screamed at him to help. Besides, he had to figure out what was going on. He sighted Centurions on the wing, dipping and diving beyond the town wall. Hope welled up in his heart. Centurions meant that Lady Palutena was already helping. Why did he feel a shock of fear through the little girl again? Her heart-rate sped up as he neared the city.

Without warning, she tripped on a dip in the road and fell. Pit was once again launched into the cold metal feeling of the ring as he was sent spinning. The girl ran off as Pit felt the hot breath of an animal upon him.

He could smell it, too, somehow. Dog breath! Yuck!

A white and brown-patched dog picked the Pit-ring up in its teeth. Pit instantly felt himself controlling the warm muscles of the beast. The fur covering the body felt warm. The animal's mind was cut off from his own just like the little girl's was, but complex sensations were still registered by its brain and conveyed to Pit.

The world, bright and colorful through the eyes of the little girl, suddenly took a washed-out appearance. Pit was seeing color through the eyes of a dog, which meant that he saw far fewer shades and tones of it than he was accustomed to. However, this loss of a sense was made up for in astounding measure by the gaining of another: Pit could smell everything.

Absolutely everything.

It wasn't the best of superpowers for him.

Odors became distinct. He was an immortal, but had senses like those of a human, for the most part. Suddenly becoming aware of the senses of a dog was almost overwhelming. The grass and the weeds smelled utterly fresh. The dirt stirred up by his feet had the quality of many mixed minerals and he could tell them all from one another, although he could not name them. It was almost as though he could trace the history of the loam. There was a blood-scent and somehow he knew the blood was human. He could tell it apart from the shed blood of sheep and goats, the reek of which he also picked out.

He registered the scent of sunlight on the stone walls as he entered the city. Pit also, with the dog's nose, detected certain ammoniated scents that gave him a strong urge to empty his bladder in spurts here and there. "Mine!" the dog part of him urged. "That ugly hound with the runny eye that lives in the square can't have this land! My land! Mine!" He ignored these impulses. He was not a dog, he was an angel and he needed to find out what was happening.

Centurions patrolled around, looking serious. Pit tried to speak to them, but couldn't even bark. The dog still had control there.

Oh! What was that wonderful new smell? Pit felt the metal part of himself getting wet. The dog was drooling. Ugh! Gross! Gross! Gross! The smell…. Garbage… beef garbage! The distinct stench, amplified by the dog's senses, was that of bloody bones and scraps of fat and gristle, beef-like in nature and starting to "go bad" in regards to being fit for human consumption. It was ripe and perfect for a canine.

Pit fought against the growl in his borrowed stomach. The body of the dog stated to obey the dog's whim. The soul of the angel fought for control. Every part of him ached to give in. He could feel his nose twitching, anticipating the feel and the smells and the tastes of it buried deep in butcher shop scraps – delicious thick yellow fat, chewy tendons, milky-smooth bones… slick discarded entrails!

Pit told himself to get it together. He ducked beneath holes and found himself exploring an open complex with narrow walkways. He was thankful that he was small. It was not an ideal situation, being a dog – or a ring for that matter, but at least he had the kind of small body that he was used to, compact but with strong muscles.

Running on all fours just didn't feel right to him, but it least it was speedy.

He noticed that when he paused to catch his breath and look around, that the tail wagged. He was not doing this. This was entirely the dog's doing even as he controlled the rest of the body. It felt utterly bizarre to have an extension of the tailbone like that. It was an extra bit of spine, swinging back and forth and he could feel the root of it in his back. He lacked limbs that he was used to – the wings, their absence sorely felt – and had gained a long rudder.

It was strange… so strange, especially since he wasn't moving it on his own.

Pit guessed that the dog must have trusted him. The animal, unlike the girl, was fearless around the Centurions. For their part, Pit's men acted almost as though the creature did not exist. Domestic animals were generally not their concern, anyway. Pit noticed their vigilance, watching for enemies - the archers with bows drawn and the knights with poleaxes at the ready…

In fact, they seemed to be more on-duty than usual today. Maybe they were on-edge after the incident with the Aurum? They didn't even want to try to play fetch! Pit still didn't know why he was suddenly here, in cold metal and warm bodies that were not his own. Maybe he was having a dream? This certainly felt too real to be a dream… No, he decided. He wasn't insane. This had to be real. Lady Palutena was probably playing some kind of elaborate joke on him. If not her, then maybe it was Viridi? Perhaps Hades had turned on them at the end of the fight and was putting him through some very weird kind of confusion-torture?

Maybe that would explain why he'd seen himself zooming through the sky, shooting randomly in the town. That was definitely his body – his body without him in it. Whatever else was going on, he needed to get it back!

Pit piloted the dog down the alleyways until he ran into a familiar figure.

"Magnus?"

There was the mighty warrior he'd fought alongside before slamming his sword with expert strokes into Centurions. They were attacking him! He'd fought them off, sending him into "finished" mode – which caused them to disappear from the surface-world. That was the usual way of things with Palutena's Army and Pit had experienced it a few times, himself. When at the last of their strength or when they'd taken what would be – if they were mortal – a mortal wound, off to Lady Palutena's palace they teleported to have their wounds knit and be sent back into the fray. Of course, this meant that Magnus, however well he fought, would be in danger again shortly. Fallen soldiers returned to the last area they left a signature of their presence when battle was heavy. There was a time-delay. Pit used the window of opportunity.

He called for Magnus with his mind, but the man did not hear him. Pit made the dog run and leap up on the surprised mercenary's back. Magnus was not amused by the enthusiastic canine hug. Pit proffered the ring, but Magnus didn't seem to care. He threw the dog off him and tossed the ring aside. Once again, Pit was shot back into the ring, rolling, tumbling and resting with no more power to move.

The angel begged with all the will of his soul for Magnus. The warrior had to recognize him, right? They had a connection! They were brothers in arms!

At the very least, Pit knew that he was made of gold and would be of interest to a sell-sword.

Magnus must have noticed something – whether his pleas had somehow connected to the man's mind or he'd just noticed the glimmer off the metal on the ground and decided that the ring was worth bartering, Pit did not know.

Fatefully, Magnus tried him on.

"Yes!"

The body of Magnus felt different than Pit's other hosts. There was a distinct pain in the upper right arm. Pit hadn't noticed it until now, but Magnus was wounded. There was a tight bandage wound around some deep cuts in addition to those that seemed to be there for no real reason. One of the Centurions must have landed a hit on him. Pit was momentarily impressed by whichever of his men that was – to have been able to land a hit on the strongest man in the world was quite a feat, especially in regards to what he knew of his men and Magnus' skills.

Oh, and Pit felt that strength. Moving Magnus around felt very different than his native body – very heavy, yet surprisingly speedy for the frame. Oh, the tension in the arms and shoulders swinging that massive sword around! No wonder Magnus had the attitude that he had. This body was awesome!

The mind, however, was not segregated as it had been with the small child or with the animal. Magnus' mind was as formidable as his flesh. He was not amused to find himself not in control of his limbs, nor was he amused at having another voice in his head.

"That shrill voice… Hey, are you that angel?"

Pit's soul was full of questions, which he asked without hesitation. With regret, he walloped a few of his men. Magnus was his best chance to make things right – he couldn't let the body become too damaged to work. Besides, Magnus was his friend. He couldn't let him get killed on his account. Magnus was a human. If he died, he wasn't coming back. The Centurions were immortals and, right now, immortal life was cheap.

Still, it was hard to look at them as he soldiered on. Pit caught sight of Brutus, a Strongarm – rather a dull-wit, as the muscle-bound members of the army tended to be as they were bred for strength not for brains – but a loyal subordinate who'd once risked being killed in a way he couldn't be brought back from to carry Pit to a hot spring when he'd been badly wounded.

Magnus' sword, under his guidance, cleaved Brutus' helm and his face. He vanished, off to lick his wounds in Skyworld – Pit hoped. Romulus, Remus, Orion… all archers, they, too, he had to slam into oblivion. Men he knew by name, men who practically worshipped him secondary to Lady Palutena… and he had to hurt them.

Before Pit's heart bled too much, Magnus explained to him that Palutena's Army had begun a gruesome march against humankind. Pit did not know how much of the bafflement and despair that shot through him was conveyed to Magnus' brain. Magnus addressed him in a "truth hurts" kind of tone. Magnus was not the kind of person to put things delicately. At all. Ever.

Magnus said something about how he didn't even know if the goddess was in charge anymore. That worried Pit even more.

Three years… he'd been unconscious for three years? What could have happened to Lady Palutena in that time without him to protect her?

Ah, Minion Mart… provider of all your minion-needs… He agreed with Magnus that it did look like the aftermath of surplus troop-sales. So, the Underworld army was still up to its usual destruction and was against Palutena's Army. So… Hades wasn't to blame for this?

Just what was going on?

As it was, the world of mankind was in shambles and his own body was causing much of the chaos. Pit could register Magnus' odd sense of amusement over the fact that he had been hired by the leader of the area's refugees to enter the danger-zone that had once been their city to kill Pit. He'd agreed to it for a fraction of any of his normal rates – not that he was rushing where angels obviously did not fear to tread for nothing – in part because he'd known the way Pit moved from their previous encounter and had longed to fight him. Pit did not know if he should take the sentiment as a compliment or find it disturbing. He supposed there had to be something in being deemed "worthy to kill."

Of course, now that misconceptions about Pit's true character had been cleared up, they were allies and the nature of the game had changed. Now they had to find a way to subdue the body and to get the ring on it so that Pit could re-take it. At least, that's what they'd decided had to happen, being that the ring seemed to be the key to Pit's having control over anything.

It was all so… chaotic.

Pit decided to try to talk in Magnus' voice. He took over the man's throat and roared a battle cry. Magnus found the angel's attempt to come up with a line the kid thought he might use and its execution to be lacking. Pit agreed to let Magnus to his own vocal cords and to keep his chatter inside.

They came to a hot spring. Pit took Magnus' advice – such as it was – about the danger of chasing rabbits and let the Souflee escape. The warm waters felt good on his skin – Magnus' skin. Healing pulsed through the body and Magnus was surprised at this. He mentioned how hot springs didn't heal humans. They loved a hot bath as much as any resident of Skyworld, but they didn't actually get healed by divine waters like this. He took it as Pit's influence on him.

That's when Pit started talking about pants.

He was just teasing Magnus. There was no time for a proper relaxing soak – not when there were still people around the area to be murdered by a chaos-driven angel-body that was still running and flying around. How could it fly so easily, anyway? Pit was disabled – the body should not have been able to fly without divine fire in the wings.

Pit hoped it didn't mean that there was something wrong with his soul – that his soul somehow was keeping him from flight. His soul longed to soar...

Magnus complained about the line regarding stripping. They were, indeed, his pants and Pit did not want to view him in a state of undress. It was bad enough, Pit thought, that he could feel every part of Magnus while piloting him. He knew that Magnus was, in every way, a big man. It was certainly something he did not need to see.

Pit took colossus of a human warrior up to the highest point in the city where he saw a flash of white wing. They'd found his body.

Magnus said that they had to take him down without killing him.

_Well, I'd think so!_ Pit thought at him.

_I don't wanna be stuck with you cramping up my skull forever!_ Magnus inwardly complained.

_And I don't want to be dead!_ Pit yelped. He had the uncomfortable feeling that if he did kill his body by mistake that he would be finished forever. With his soul out of it, everything felt off.

Of course, there was the way that he was staring at himself, too. His body's eyes were the eyes of, well, a body. They were the flat eyes of a dead person – without a spark, soulless. It seemed that there was only some kind of magic making the muscles and bones move and commanding its actions. The "boss" known as Pit's Body was like a zombie that wasn't rotting.

Pit, even as he was inside of Magnus, had the advantage here. He knew his own fighting-style better than anyone. Of course, it's what the body used – by muscle memory or by what was locked into the brain. Pit noted that "he" was using a Darkness Bow. It was of an opposite element to him, but he'd used that very bow before. It worked on void-magic, powered by sucking all of the light in the area of the arrows into oblivion like localized black holes.

He spent some time dodging, gauging just how to land a disabling hit that wouldn't cripple him or damage him unto death. Pit was grateful for his immortal constitution, but was also cursing it for how his body was landing hits on poor Magnus.

Magnus needed to use his body later. For what beyond simply living, Pit decided not to ask. He had the suspicion that it had something to do with the removal of pants.

In any case, his friend needed to live and so did he. Pit took a heavy swing of the massive sword straight into his body's head.

Crack!

And down he went! Down to the knees, dropping the bow, the wings going slack… Pit didn't much like seeing the pathetic little pile of gangly limbs and disheveled feathers before him. The displaced angel counted every thing he was going to feel. There was the bump on the noggin, for one thing – that would have been bad enough if it weren't for the dirty scrapes and partially-dislodged feathers. His wings were sensitive!

He cradled himself in Magnus' strong arms. That was when they carried out the plan, minds in unison with each other. Carefully, Magnus removed Pit's ring from his finger and slipped it onto the angel's body. Instantly, the ring shattered, the curse broken. Pit felt his soul fill up emptiness.

"Wahoo!"

He leapt up in excitement and adjusted his laurel crown. Oh, he was back!

He'd hoped that as soon as he'd regained his property he'd hear Lady Palutena's sweet voice. She was absent and he felt empty. He sent desperate prayers. He answered Magnus when asked the dreaded "Why don't you just fly?" question. He was ready to thank Magnus again when the light came upon him.

Yes, he was ready to go on home.

He had no idea that the chaos continued there. Soon he would find out.

For now, Pit was suffering a massive headache. From his time spent in Magnus' brain, the word "hangover" came to mind.

Indeed, Pit was suffering the most ferocious hangover ever.

The worst was yet to come.

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**END. **


End file.
